


Train Tracks

by Wordsy



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Chorus Arc, Fluff, M/M, No Spoilers, Prompt Fill, RvB Fluff Week, Tuckington - Freeform, Wash is a dork, minor blood, pre-tuckington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 10:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsy/pseuds/Wordsy
Summary: Grif turns his head to shoot Wash a side-eyed glare. “If you’d just fucking kissed him when you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Now we’re tied up on train tracks about to be smushed like bugs!”Wash blinks. Then,“What?!”Or, Wash and Grif find themselves in a bind, and Wash really doesn't have time for this conversation.





	Train Tracks

**Author's Note:**

> An RvB Fluff Week fic for arirashkae on Tumblr!  
> Fluff Prompt: “If you would have just kissed them, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Now we’re tied up on train tracks about to be smushed like bugs!”

 

“So.”

Wash looks over his shoulder at Grif. “…Yeah?”

The orange soldier is staring up at the sky. “I really fuckin’ hate you.”

Wash forces a sigh and drops his head. “You know, you hadn’t said so for a minute and a half so I’d completely forgotten.”

Grif snorts, but Wash can’t see if he’s managed to get the man to laugh. It’s awfully hard to have a conversation with someone you’re tied back to back to.

“This is bullshit,” Grif grumbles again.

“Agreed. But at lea– ack – will you stop squirming?”

“I’m not doing anything!” Grif shoots back, continuing to squirm. “You need to quit stabbing me with the fucking rock!”

“I’m _trying_ to cut the ropes,” Wash seethes. “Unless you prefer getting hit by a train.”

The space pirates must have been watching too many classic earth films – the black and white ones where damsels get tied to tracks by villains with absurd mustaches. There’s no way to justify the decision to tie two hostages to one of Chorus’s many stretches of railroad track. The Freelancer can’t believe it when the pirates don’t bother waiting around to make sure he and Grif die properly. It’s sloppy work. Even for space pirates. But Washington isn’t in a position to complain. This beats getting executed on the spot.

So long as Wash can get them off these tracks in a timely matter.

“Okay, seriously, dude, that was the train whistle again.” Grif shifts to crane his neck at Wash, who feels the ropes tighten around his chest at the movement. “How’s the badass Freelancer rescue coming?” Complaining aside, Grif has been helpful. He’s the one who found the stone Wash is sawing at the ropes with.

“I’m getting there,” Wash mutters, teeth gritted as he concentrates on the cords securing them to the center of the tracks. It’s rough going since both soldiers have their hands tied behind their backs. And it’s a stupid thing to get hung up on but all Wash can think about is where _the fuck_ did the pirates find good quality rope on this planet?

“Get there faster. You _owe_ me a super over the top rescue.”

_“Owe you?”_ Wash sputters, blindly struggling against the bonds at his wrists. “How do I _owe_ you?”

He hears Grif blow out an exasperated breath. “This is all on you, dude.”

Wash stops sawing in surprise, before remembering that _now is not the time_ , and starts up again. He strains to glare over his shoulder at Grif. “How is this _my_ fault?”

Grif groans and drops his head back against Wash’s. “It’s you and Tucker.”

Wash’s brow furrows but he shakes his head. Goddamnit, they don’t have time for this. He needs to ignore Grif and focus on getting them out of here before the train with the whistle they’ve been hearing every five minutes shows up. Yeah, that’s what he should do, but instead –

“What?” Washington blurts out. “Me and…”

Grif turns his head to shoot Wash a side-eyed glare. “If you’d just fucking kissed him when you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Now we’re tied up on train tracks about to be smushed like bugs!”

Wash blinks. Then,

_“What?!”_ There goes the respectable pitch of his voice. It’s officially left the building.

Ropes digging into his chest, Wash turns as far as he can towards the orange soldier. Grif is pointedly not looking at him as the red breaks into a dramatic narrator voice, sass dripping off every word. “A mission goes bad! We lose all contact with Tucker’s squad, oh no! Everyone assumes the worst. But wait! _Dun da da DUH!”_ Grif bounces his head side to side to the tune. “The pelican is back! And there’s Tucker strolling out, perfectly fine, to where you’ve been standing on the runway for _two and a half hours_. And what do you do?”

Wash frowns, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “I, ah–”

“You start lecturing him about backup communication methods and protocols for,” Grif makes his voice solemn, but oddly high-pitched in what Wash realizes must be an impression of him, “‘reestablishing contact with one’s base in case of emergency or equipment malfunction blah blah blah buhbuh!’ _Jesus fuck!”_

Wash stares straight ahead until, _“What are you talking about?!”_ Maybe the high-pitched impression wasn’t too far off.

Grif huffs. “If you’d grown a pair and kissed him, then all the melodrama would’ve been out of your system for when we got jumped by pirates.”

“I was rescuing you!”

“Yeah, and how’s that coming?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wash cranes his neck at the soldier again, “you’re pissed because I made sure those pirates _didn’t_ blow your brains out?!”

“I’m pissed because you got all dramatic about drawing the pirates away from me and towards you, and got us both captured!”

“I wasn’t being dramatic!”

“Yeah, you were, dude! And yeah, you still are!”

“How am I being dramatic?”

“I made a joke about chewing an arm off and you actually thought about it!”

“Yeah, well, this conversation has me thinking about it again!”

At that moment, the screaming match is interrupted by a long whistle and both men fall silent. The whistle sounds again, closer this time.

“Okay, fuck this,” Grif says, worry edging into his voice as he tugs against his bonds. “You get the rope cut?”

Wash speeds up his sawing to a frantic pace. “I’m trying, I’m trying. It’s really thick.”

“There’s an idea. Chant mildly suggestive phrases until Tucker inevitably shows up.” When Wash doesn’t answer, Grif tacks on. “Here, I’ve got the ropes pulled tight, try cutting them now.”

The pair continues like this: testing the rope for weakness and passing the rock back and forth until another whistle cuts through the air.

“Oh my god,” Grif moans at the sky as Wash saws furiously at the bonds, “is this seriously how I die?”

Breathing heavy, Wash grimaces but doesn’t pause his work. “Not… ah. Not what you had in mind?” Talking’s good. Talking takes the mind off their encroaching doom.

Grif snorts derisively. “I assumed it would be because Tucker _couldn’t_ keep it in his pants. Maybe trying to bang another alien.”

Never mind, skip the talking. Wash bites his lip, eyes squeezed shut as he concentrates on grinding the stone against the rope’s fibers. His fingers are bleeding, scraped raw against the bonds. Focus on that. No talking. Especially not about Tucker.

A beat of silence punctuated by the two soldiers breathing. Another train whistle.

Wash’s eyes fly open and the words spill out. “You really think I should have kissed Tucker?”

“I cannot _believe_ ,” Grif moans, “ _this_ is the last conversation I’ll ever have.”

Heat rises to Wash’s cheeks and he drops his head. “Never mind, I just – I-I mean–”

“Yes, you hopeless dipshit.”

Wash’s pace of sawing at the rope stutters as he looks up. “…you do?”

“Yeah,” Grif drops his head back to nudge Wash’s. It comes with a familiar sentiment: no different from bumping armored shoulders on the battlefield. “It was the most dramatic moment imaginable, and seeing as you get off on that shit – I was surprised you didn’t.”

Another train whistle, far too close for comfort. They’ve got maybe minutes left.

“Oh,” Wash says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Then I was surprised he didn’t punch you.”

“What?” Wash startles, then hisses as the rope scrapes the joints of his fingers raw.

“Oh my god, you’re useless, give it to me.” Grif gets ahold of the rock and picks up where Wash left off. “Seriously though, you didn’t go for it and Tucker was pissed.”

“What? No. He was mad because I was lecturing him.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

Wash strains against the rope, testing for weakness – for anything that could save them. “But why would he be mad I didn’t?”

“Oh my fucking god, are you seriously _this dense?”_ Grif’s struggling against his own bonds, hacking at the cord. “He wanted you to.”

“...what?”

“Holy mother of shit, we are about to _die_ and we’re still talking about this?! Tucker’s flirting with you!”

Growling, Wash squirms, tugging against the ropes at his wrists so hard he feels a trickle of blood run down his knuckles. He heaves a breath of frustration. “Tucker flirts with everyone! He doesn’t like– Why would he–”

At that moment, the train appears, rounding a distant bend in the tracks.

“Shit.” Grif says at the same time Wash says, “Fuck.”

Their struggle becomes more erratic.

“You seriously don’t have a knife?” Grif demands.

“Do you think we’d still be here if I did?” Wash shoots back.

“Why the fuck not?”

“The pirates took them.”

“You’re a Freelancer. You guys are always armed to the tits! _Your knives have knives!”_

“Pull harder!” Wash orders, fighting his own ropes. “Maybe we can break them.”

Grif shakes his head wildly. “This isn’t working! We’re gunna die! And I haven’t even found where the cooks hide the chocolate pudding!”

Wash’s gut sinks as the train approaches, vibrations wracking the tracks. This is it. He never thought in a million years it’d end like this.

“Don’t stop! Keep going!” Wash’s orders are rapidly losing their heat. “It’s coming…”

“Bow chica bow wow.”

Both Wash and Grif whip their heads around to find none other than Tucker standing beside the tracks. Before Wash can blink, Tucker’s pulled a knife and sliced the rope tethering them to the tracks. Grif and Wash scramble upright as Tucker grabs them each by an arm and drags them off the tracks.

Wash hits the ground face first, panting into the dirt as the train roars past. The whistle screeches in his ears, but then it’s all over. The train has passed.

“You alright, Wash?”

Wash shudders as someone tugs at his hands still tied behind his back, but moments later he hears the _shnick_ of the knife and the ropes go slack.

Rolling over, Wash sits up to find Tucker crouched beside him.

“Uh, yeah,” Wash says, remembering he’s supposed to be answering a question and not staring wide-eyed at Tucker. “I’m okay.”

“I’m fine too,” Grif pipes up from where he’s getting to his feet and his rubbing at his wrists. “Just in case anyone was wondering.”

Tucker offers a hand and pulls Wash up off the ground

“Jesus, we’ve been looking for you guys for hours. You’ve been tied together the whole time?”

“Yep,” Grif grumbles. “and with this dramatic asshole, it’s about as much fun as it sounds.”

Tucker grins and stares down the tracks. He whistles, turning to the Freelancer. “Wow, so what do two people talk about in the face of certain death?”

“Nothing!” Wash half shrieks.

Behind them, Grif’s palm hits his face with a resounding _smack_.

**Author's Note:**

> arirashkae, thank you so much for the unique prompt - it was a total blast to write!
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr at [wordsysayswords](http://wordsysayswords.tumblr.com/)


End file.
